


The Fast Track

by twofoldAxiom



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bad Dirty Talk, Because Bulges Are Weird, Bulges and Nooks, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Exhibitionism, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Nipple Play, Nook Eating, Post-SBurb AU, Post-Sburb/Sgrub, Train Sex, self-fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-13
Updated: 2015-01-13
Packaged: 2018-03-07 09:37:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3170075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twofoldAxiom/pseuds/twofoldAxiom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You get on the train, one of those “mixed” trains that barely deserve the name because trolls generally don’t get on them. Even so, it’s packed tight by the time you find your way to one of the windows, waiting for the doors to close and your bloodpusher to stop trying to pop out of your mouth. You look at your palmhusk and read the text over and over.</p><p class="black">Canway Station, Number 4, third car, 3:00. - Bro</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fast Track

Your name is Karkat Vantas and this may be one of the worst ideas you’ve ever had in your life.

To be fair, you’ve had a lot of bad ideas, and this one you didn’t come up with alone. No, what’s really stupid about this one is that you _agreed._ What’s really, _really_ stupid about this one is that you not only agreed, but if you’re to be completely honest with yourself, you’re a little excited.

You get on the train, one of those “mixed” trains that barely deserve the name because trolls generally don’t get on them. Even so, it’s packed tight by the time you find your way to one of the windows, waiting for the doors to close and your bloodpusher to stop trying to pop out of your mouth. You look at your palmhusk and read the text over and over.

Canway Station, Number 4, third car, 3:00. - Bro

You’re in the right place, which is good you tell yourself. You also tell yourself to stop fidgeting, lest people start looking at you, though there’s not much chance of that happening; even after adult moult you’re at least half a head shorter than everyone here. Eventually, the train starts moving, and you’re practically pressed into the wall by the crush of bodies. It doesn’t seem like he’s anywhere nearby. You don’t think anyone could even _move_ in here, let alone do what he has planned. Fifteen minutes and a stop later, you’re not sure if you feel disappointment or relief that nothing’s happened, until you feel a none-too-subtle squeeze on your ass.

You freeze up, bristling. Instinct tells you to break someone’s wrist, but then you feel another hand inching up the back of your shirt and hear the rustle of cloth as he leans over you and whispers, “Sorry I’m late.”

“No shit.” You murmur back. You’re intimately familiar with that voice; it makes your pulse quicken just a few more beats to hear it. You’re even more intimately familiar with a leather-clad palm and sword-calloused fingers trailing across your hip, just above the hem of your jeans. You check your watch. Your stop comes up in fifteen minutes.

You don’t turn around, but you do press into his touch slightly. His lips close around the tip of one of your ears, making your breath hitch as his fingers skim a little closer to the front of your jeans. Your focus narrows down to three points of contact and hot breath ruffling your hair, and you press your palms flat on the window to steady yourself when you feel him smirk against your skin and suck. Your body takes a definite interest, especially when he stops squeezing your rump cup the front of your jeans.

Your bulge starts to swell and your nook clenches when his hand wanders lower, palm pressed to the slit of your sheathe and fingers rubbing the lips of your nook through layers of coarse fabric. He’s pressed up to you now, hard and warm against your back, teasing flicks of tongue on your ear and huffs of his breath filling your hearing alongside the hum of the rails and the distant muttering of the other passengers, keeping you grounded in the reality that you’re really doing this, no joke, out where anyone might see you.

You grind back against him, feel him half hard through your jeans, and he groans. The sound feels like a shot of something warm in your guts and you instinctively suck in a breath and do it again. He huffs, tickling your ear, and rewards you by pressing over your sheathe a little harder, pressing into the slit.

“You nice and wet for me, darlin’?” He growls, grinding his palm down; not too hard, just enough to make you gasp one more time. He chuckles, pulling you closer to him, humping slowly into your backside as he traps you between his hand and his crotch. “You want me to split that cute little nook on my dick right now? Or do you want me to fingerfuck you first?”

You roll your eyes, even if the words turn you on and make your knees a little weak with the anticipation. Still, as much as you would want him to, as much as he’s fucked you every night for the past week such that both holes are sore and you’ve been walking with a limp, you’ve got the presence of mind to shake your head and grunt out, “Fingers first, try thinking with the head on your shoulders why don’t you?”

That makes him laugh, because for all your griping you’re still grinding your ass against his dick. The hand on your hip slides forward as the hand between your legs pulls up, and they both work to undo your jeans. The sound of your zipper being pulled down sounds like something tearing, loudly, at least to you; you hold your breath and look around. No one has turned to acknowledge it, or no one has noticed. You breathe.

He slides his palm flat against your belly, under your shirt, then lower and lower until he reaches the hem of your underwear.

For one breathless moment, you wonder if he’ll stop, if he’s been fucking with you, because that’s just the sort of horrible thing he would do, but then his hand slides into your underwear in one smooth movement, slow and tender as anything, and even if it’s barely a touch at all it sends fire up your spine. You grind against his touch, your claws raking down the reinforced glass with a soft squeak that makes you grit your teeth.

“Shhhh,” He whispers, and you want to bite him for fucking _shooshing you while his hand is on your crotch_ but then he wraps his fingers around your bulge. They’re not soft fingers, calloused by swordplay and whatever the hell else he gets up to, but the touch is excruciatingly good all the same. Your bulge is making a mess of your underwear, and if this were Alternia, someone would notice the smell, faint, impossible to detect to humans but thunderously obvious to you. Possibly to him, because he’s the strangest human you’ve ever met, but he might just be chuckling at how wet your bulge is. “Damn son, it’s like a swamp down here. You’re that excited?” It was that.

“Just shut up and finger me.” You command, and for once he doesn’t quip at you for it; you expect him to, so it comes as a surprise when he lets go of your bulge and swipes the pad of a finger right over the little nub just underneath. You have only that as warning before his hand goes lower and he pushes a finger into your slick, overheated nook.

You moan, strangled and low. He tugs down the collar of your sweater and mouths at the crook of your neck, and you actually tilt your head to the side to give him more room to leave hickeys on you. He laughs and bites, sucking hard where he does, and you feel like you’re going to collapse.

You don’t get the chance to collapse though, because he shoves you right against the window and pushes another finger into your nook. “Always so nice and tight, darlin’, how do you do it?” He growls, moving, grinding his dick against your ass again as his fingers move in tandem inside of you, and you can’t help the soft, huffing noises you make in response. You want to stop them, because people around you can probably tell that you’re being fucked, but at the same time it sends a vicious thrill through your core. You want more. He gives it to you, stuffing a third finger into your greedy nook, all of them so far in you that it hurts a little, hurts so good.

“Fuck,” You lick your lips, trembling in his grip. You squeeze your thighs around his hand but he’s skilled enough to keep moving even as you do so, knees trembling under you. Your face is pressed to the window and you can see the reflection of one of your eyes, hazy with lust, the pupil dilated all the way, and the rest of your face is blurred by the mist of your breath on the cool glass. You mewl. “ _Fuck.”_

“Yeah, I’m getting to it, no rush.” You wish he would rush though, you can feel fluid making its way down your inner thigh. No wonder he had you wear black pants, because you’re so wet that you can feel the fabric of your underwear soaked through in prematerial. You’re panting when he finally takes his fingers out and he brings them to your _mouth,_ that shouldn’t be as hot as it is when he stuffs them past your lips. It makes your bulge thrash when he speaks again, says your name right against your ear. “Clean me up, Karkat.”

You moan helplessly, close your eyes and suck on his fingers, careful of your fangs. You hear someone sneeze nearby, and the sound sends a jolt through you; there’s nowhere to hide, you’re sucking your own prematerial off his hand and anyone with a mind to look close enough can tell. He’s still rubbing his dick against your ass, huge and fully hard, and your nook clenches again, you want him so badly.

“Come on,” You murmur, breathless, when he takes his fingers out of your mouth and snaps the thread of spit that still connected them to your lips. He keeps mouthing at your neck but that doesn’t hide the fact that you can hear him unzipping before you feel his hands on your hips again, pulling your jeans and underwear down to just below your hips, cold air on your bare ass making you chirp on instinct and straighten up slightly. He pinches you, and you yelp, then hiss at him. “Come _on.”_

“Easy,” He rubs over where he pinched, and you can feel him settle his dick on the cleft of your ass. Fuck, you’ll never get over the size of him. Maybe it’s because humans don’t taper like trolls do, but he always looks and feels huge to you. It makes your mouth water, not that you’ll admit to it, you’re enough of a freak as it is.

Whatever else you were thinking is replaced by _yes, fucking come **on** already _when he slides his dick between your thighs. You can feel his shaft just against the lips of your nook, hot and smooth, and just like that your legs are quivering again. It’s only his weight on you and the glass that keeps you from falling, especially when he starts thrusting, still between the tightness of your legs. You want to bite him, claw him, _something_ to get him inside of you properly. Instead you whimper, and grind back, bare-assed in the middle of a crowded train and not giving a singular fuck.

“Fuck me already,” You hiss. “And I mean fuck me properly. Put your fucking bulge up my nook and use it like it was supposed to be used.”

He bites you again, leaves a matching mark on your other shoulder, hard enough that you gasp. His teeth are too blunt to break skin and by God do you wish they weren’t. “I said _fuck me._ ”

“Easy, darlin’.” He says, and it infuriates you as much as it makes the heat pool in your guts, in your groin. “Just getting myself nice and wet for you first, but since you’re leaking like a faucet maybe I should just do as you _say._ ”

And he pushes in, just the head, but it makes you toss your head back and choke back more moans. He breathes hard behind you, forcing himself not to push in any deeper you realize, and you want to punch him and beg at the same time, but Karkat Vantas doesn’t beg, he commands; and that’s what you do, you push back against him and take another two inches of his dick into the too-tight confines of your nook, squeezing around him with a pleased little noise.

“Ohh, _fuck,_ ” It’s his turn to lose his composure, and that makes you a little proud of yourself; you smile a little while you pant and squeeze. “Son of a bitch, it’s hot in there; you’re fucking tight too, how are you always this _tight…_ ”

He stops holding back and pushes into you all the way, balls deep; so deep it aches and you’re so needy for him by now that it doesn’t matter, you just want him to _move_. He puts his hands on your hips and does just that, and you can’t help but hiss through your teeth at the stretch. Normally you hate being so much smaller than him, but the difference in size is something delicious when it gets to be like this.

“Faster,” You pant. He complies, hips slapping against your ass softly in the hot, crowded cage of people. There’s no way in Hell no one’s noticed you being fucked by now but that only makes you hotter for it at this point. “Come on, faster goddamnit, fucking _wreck me_ , I can take this,”

“You have, such a dirty fucking mouth.” He growls, but does go faster, and you make little yelps with every thrust now, pushing back against him. He sucks on your ear again and you close your eyes, so you’re surprised when you feel cool air on your chest as he pulls up your shirt, up to your collarbones. He presses you into the glass, cold against your nipples, and the sensation paired with the heat shoots straight to your bulge and nook; you think of how you’re half naked in public transit and you’re loving it.

He just doesn’t stop talking while he fucks you, making you whimper and curse. “Keep goin’, darlin’, people are looking at you; they see how pretty you are riding my dick.” He hums, his hands over yours, trapping you in place; his voice sounds like something right out of one of his films, his accent thickened with lust. “Yeah, lookin’ at you babe, fuckin’ beautiful; bet we’re really givin’ ‘em a show, make some fuckin’ _noise._ ”

You do, but only because he suddenly pulled all the way out and thrust back in as deep as he could go, making you arch your back and _moan._ He bucks against you in short, sharp bursts that make you pant, still talking all the while, “mmm, you’re just good enough to eat, maybe I’ll eat you out after I’m done with you; look at you squirmin’ like that.”

Your eyes are crossing, the heat between your legs nearly unbearable. Your bulge coils in on itself and he stops pinning one of your hands so he can wind it around his fingers, stroking in time with his thrusts.

“You gonna cum for me, babe?” He asks, and his voice is so hot in your ear that you can only answer with quick little nods, instinctive, animal noises bubbling from your throat. His expression doesn’t waver but you can _feel_ the way he looks at you, even through those stupid fucking shades, and you’re almost there, he’s squeezing _just right,_ his dick pressed into all your sweet spots at once. “Come on, darlin’, cum for me.”

And just before you do, he pulls out and away from you. You growl in frustration, you are going to _kill him_. “What the _fuck_ -“

“Sir, you are _both_ under arrest on charges of public indecency.” That’s not his voice; you yelp and turn around. He actually has the decency to look rather shocked, with his dick jutting out in front of him and reddened with your fluids and his shades askew, a pair of policemen gripping him by either arm. You flush and try to cover yourself. You hadn’t even noticed the train stop, and checking the signs over the doors, you’ve _missed_ your stop.

~!~

Your name is Karkat Vantas and that was probably the most humiliating walk off a train you’ve ever done in your life.

Now you’re fuming in a jail cell at the police station while waiting for Dave to bail the both of you out and you are not looking forward to explaining to your boyfriend’s younger-brother-slash-ecto-clone how you got in there in the first place. What’s worse is that you still haven’t gotten off, and even though you’re pissed as all Hell, your bulge is still squirming in the sticky-hot mess of your underwear.

“I _knew_ this was a terrible idea, my past self is such a fucking _idiot,_ I cannot _believe_ this.” You grumble, pacing around the cell because you’d heard getting exercise helps get the blood flowing to other parts of your body, and you would really like for your bulge to re-sheathe because it feels just good enough squirming around in there that it continues to frustrate you.

Bro sits on the dinky little bunk, watching you work yourself up. He’s infuriatingly calm about the whole situation, which somehow makes you just feel worse. You round on him, glaring, and poke him in the chest.

“This is all your fault.” You say.

His expression remains impassive, but he holds up a pen. You realize it’s his camera pen.

“Worth it.” He says, and you can hear the smugness in his voice.

Your jaw drops. You want to snatch the pen out of his hand and shove it up his nostril, but he’s too fast for you to even nick him during strife so you doubt that’s going to happen. Instead you growl at him again and resume your pacing. “I can’t fucking believe _you,_ holy shit; you filmed all that?”

“Yep.” He says.

“Beautiful.” You throw your hands up in the air. “Fucking amazing. Really, absolutely wonderful. How did you even _hold_ that? Fuck. If you put that on your site, I swear to God, I-“

“Will calm your shit, because I won’t.” He puts the pen away and leans back, putting his hands behind his head. “This shit’s going in the private collection, babe. Ain’t nobody gonna see it but me, and maybe you if you feel like getting a good look at the angles I got of you riding me like a prize pony.”

You wince, and your face burns. You cross your arms and look away. He stands up and stalks over to you, an easy swagger to his steps, and tips your chin up so you’re looking into the mirrored lenses of his stupid, pointy shades. “Hey, it’s fine. You had fun, that’s what matters.”

“Yes, that’s absolutely right.” You scoff, batting his hand away, not noticing how he _lets_ you because you’re too worked up. “No problem here! Just the fact that we’re in a police station because everyone in the car noticed that you were fucking my puzzlesponge out of my ears, and I was dumb enough to think this was a _good idea,_ and-“

He kisses you, hard, lips crashing into yours and you taste a little blood; his, not yours, has that iron tang that human blood does (irony all the way through, there’s a joke in that), and then he stops kissing you and cups your face. You growl, soft and low.

“How about I make it up to you, then?” He asks. Your bloodpusher does a little flip because he never asks, he’s always one to take on implications and suggestions but he never puts it out there like that, and your anger just melts away. You think that’s a little fucked up, but you’re fucked up so instead of refusing, you glance out of the corner of your eye towards the door to confirm that there’s no one right outside. The two of you are alone. You gulp, your mouth dry.

He searches your face, you can tell only because you’re so close to his, and you nod and put your hands on his wrists. (The very ghost of a smirk twitches at the corner of his mouth, and your pusher does another flip. You’ve got it bad for this asshole.)

“How are you going to make it up to me?” You ask, because you can at least put up a front of being pissier than you are. He licks the blood off his lips and starts tugging you towards the dinky bunk; it creaks when you sit on it, and then he gets on his knees and starts undoing your jeans, peeling them down your legs. Your bulge coils beneath your underwear needily, and he palms it with all the gentleness he can muster; which isn’t much, but you like it a little rough, your hips twitching up against the touch.

You whine, softly. He starts peeling your underwear off too, tosses it aside with your pants and hitches your knees over his shoulders; then he looks up at you over his shades and fuck if that isn’t one of the hottest things you’ve ever seen because you hardly ever see his eyes without the damned things in the way. The corners scrape your inner thighs as he leans in and drags his tongue up your nook. You muffle a keen on the cuff of your sleeve.

“Get those things out of the way.” You say, the third time you prick yourself on them. You can actually feel him chuckle against your bits and that should piss you off but it feels _good_ , especially when he starts pushing his tongue into you properly. You muffle another embarrassing little noise when he gets down and _really_ starts to put his mouth into it, sloppy and hot, sucking on the lips of your nook whenever he pulls his tongue out. You can feel your prematerial dripping into the crack of your ass and your breath is coming faster, you’re probably going to lose it all over his face and the thought very nearly sends you over the edge.

He pulls back to suckle on your bulge and you really, really wish you could close your legs around his face and push his head back down to your nook but _fuck,_ that’s nice too, so you’ll let it slide. Besides, a couple of fingers have come up to replace his tongue and while they’re not as good, they reach deeper, spreading inside of you, pumping until you’re leaking all over the grimy sheets. When he pulls them out you can’t stop the keen that rises from your throat, and instinctively close your legs, only to stab them on the points of his shades.

“ _Fuck!_ ” You honestly sort of squeak in pain, then panic and look towards the door. Still no one there, but it helps draw you back from the edge a little. He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and pushes your legs apart again, then runs his slick fingers along the cleft of your ass. You shudder, watching him, biting your lower lip and bunching your fingers in the sheets.

You have a single frozen moment in your head when you can appreciate his smirk before he pushes his fingers in to the knuckles and you arch back, a moan coming from somewhere deep in your chest that there’s no way no one heard. This isn’t your first time with your waste chute, far from it, but the sudden feeling of fullness always gets you and you whimper when he starts thrusting, bite your lower lip so hard that you taste blood again, this time your own.

You pant through your nose as he spreads you, still sucking on your bulge, and then he lifts his head and pulls his fingers out. You growl impatiently and thump him with your heel, but he only untangles himself from your legs and sits on the bunk, unzipping his jeans and lazily fishing out his dick, stroking it slowly.

You gape, and then say, with your voice steadily rising. “Are you _joking, you shitmunching assroach_? You’re going to sit there and jack yourself off?”

“Nope.” He turns to face you and stops stroking himself, puts his hands behind his head again. “You’re going to ride me.”

Your jaw is still within the general vicinity of your collarbones. He _chuckles_ , or at least makes a huffing noise that could be a chuckle. “You’ll catch flies, darlin’. Close your mouth and get in my lap before all that stretching I did for you goes to waste.”

“You’re insufferable.” You groan, but you find yourself settling over his lap all the same.

“Ah-ah.” He says, stopping you just as you’ve positioned yourself over his dick. He’s not smirking, but the smarm in his voice more than makes up for it. He draws a circle in the air with a finger. “Turn around. It’ll be better that way, trust me.”

You roll your eyes but do so, and it doesn’t occur to you at all how this could be better. It’s awkward and difficult, positioning yourself over him, but at least he has the grace to guide you down. You bite back another moan, because you haven’t done this in a while and a couple of fingers are just barely enough of a stretch for your chute, but it’s good too, it’s painfully good when he’s all the way in, his chest against your back and his arms around your waist.

You pant. You put your hands over your shoulders and grip his shirt, white-knuckled with effort as you start to move. Your legs are spread as far as they’ll go like this, and your nook aches with the need to be filled with something while his dick throbs in your chute. He puts his hands on your hips and guides you, up and down, faster, harder, making you swivel your hips slightly in a way that pushes him against the spot behind your bulge that sends little waves of pleasure through your nook.

Sweat drips down your brow; your shirt is downright suffocating. One of his hands lets go of your hips so you can move on your own except for how he glides it up the taut plane of your belly and settles it against your chest, under your shirt, slick skin sticking to the leather of his gloves. You wonder what the hell he’s up to until he pinches one of your nipples and you squeak again.

“You can stop looking at the door you know.” He murmurs into the back of your neck, but your eyes are trained on the door like magnets, your bloodpusher in your throat. You can’t get caught again, you could get into even more trouble than you’re already in for it, why are you hoping someone will come and see you taking his dick up your chute?

You don’t get to come to a conclusion about that, because his other hand slides over your thigh, and your focus narrows down to how it inches closer and closer to your nook with every thrust. When it actually reaches your nook, he pushes his fingers in again, and the fit is almost too much, too tight, what with his dick inside of you too. You clench your teeth and grind down on him though, try to take as much of it as you can.

“Fuck, that’s hot…” He nibbles the nape of your neck as he thrusts in time with your bouncing, and you can feel yourself dripping, probably ruining his pants. Serves him right for teasing you as much as he has, you think with a vicious sort of satisfaction, and then you don’t think at all because he’s pressing his thumb into the sensitive nub under your bulge so hard that it hurts, hurts the best way it can. Still, you dig your claws into his shoulders and relish the way his breath hitches for it.

He surprises you by pulling his fingers out of your nook and grabbing your bulge with a hard squeeze, and you can’t even try to hide the noise that wrings out of you, high and desperate. You hump into his hand, which in turn makes you bounce harder on his dick, and that makes him give another pleased groan; heat flushes your face, your neck, your guts.

You’re confused when he stops pumping your bulge but then you feel him curving it down. Then you realize what he’s about to do when you feel the tip licking around the lips of your nook. You look down, watching, as he lets go of it to spread the lips of your nook while your bulge slides slick and hot along the seam of your hip, inching closer like a massive tongue, before it meets the slippery flesh of your nook and plunges _in._

“Nngh,” Is all you say, because it’s all you _can_ say while your bulge starts fucking you in earnest, especially since he hasn’t stopped thrusting into you in tandem with it. You’ve done this to yourself before, every troll who reaches six sweeps has tried it at least once, but you’ve never had him inside you while it happened and the feeling is intense. It’s not like his fingers either, the feeling of everything being touched at once putting spots of white behind your eyes.

He licks behind your ear and growls, squeezing your nipple a little harder, enough to make you whimper, and his other hand hasn’t stopped rubbing between your legs either. “Come on darlin’, almost there.” He purrs, slipping a finger into you alongside your bulge and crooking it, making you arch your back with a soft “ _ahh._ ”. He strokes your bulge inside of you, his voice gone rough with need. “Gonna cream in your sweet ass like a goddamn éclair.”

“Oh my God would you shut _up._ ” You growl, but as stupid as that sounds, it doesn’t matter, because that’s it, you’re done. You come, hard, your body locking up in a sharp arch as you squeeze around him and spill bright red genetic material that you’ve been holding for too goddamn long already all over the floor and inside your nook. It feels odd, your bulge spilling inside of you, bloating you slightly, but you don’t care because it also makes you lock up your teeth and cross your eyes.

He pulls out of you, and the slight wetness he leaves behind tells you that he really did come inside of you. You’re just glad you weren’t wearing your pants, because now you’re an unholy mess of genetic material that even the darkness of the fabric wouldn’t hide.

He leans back with a satisfied sigh, and all you can do is turn around to sit in his lap properly and start to purr, aching in tender places. “How long until Dave gets here?” You ask.

He checks his watch and hums. “He’s late. That’s all you need to know.”

“Fuck.” You grumble, but at least it gives you time to clean up. For now, you nip him on the jaw and snuggle against his broad chest, and he wraps his arms around you and pets your hair. You close your eyes.


End file.
